


Cry to Heaven

by devlandiablo



Series: 59-34-8th-Hudson [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Dom/sub, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6433039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devlandiablo/pseuds/devlandiablo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From daredevil kink meme, a request for Matt being fisted. *Ahem*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cry to Heaven

They're in one of Frank's safe houses. It's near dawn, not that it matters much to either of them. The basement is soundproofed, stocked with everything Frank could need as The Punisher, and the things he needs when he's just himself, not on the hunt. He keeps those things now, thanks to Matt. 

Said guardian devil is stripped of everything, mask and suit and modesty, the purple-black bruising across his ribs beautiful in the lamplight. The pop of sweat on Matt's skin, the flush that reaches from his bit-red lips to halfway down his chest, the moans he's been biting back to growls, the way his eyes are closed, all of him given over to Frank- it makes Frank so hard, but this isn't about him, not really. 

All that pale skin on display for Frank to touch, to kiss, to bite, cradled in a sling the same dark red as the suit, soft restraints pinning back his wrists and knees and ankles- sin and prayer, all in one smartass altar boy package, all for Frank to praise and desecrate.

He doesn't say anything to Matt, hasn't for the last ten minutes of stretching and easing in, letting the gentle brushes of his fingers against the hot clinging silk of Matt's insides and his silence speak for him. 

The knob of his wrist is still outside the hole. 

That won't do. 

He pushes in.

"Ah." Matt breathes out, a huff of air from his core, as Frank's hand curls into a fist. 

Frank watches Matt's mouth, the pulse in his throat, the way his fingers stretch and twitch, the relaxed tendons in the feet hanging next to Frank's head, and judges Matt is ready for the next step. 

He kisses Matt's thigh and the redhead moans. 

"Please, Frank." 

He bites down and twists his fist. 

Matt, hole spread open around the first inch of Frank's forearm, cries out, as knuckles drag over his prostate. Abs tensing, rippling, bulging, as Frank pushes in-in-in, all greased and easy, twisting more as he pulls back out to tease his entrance with the still-fisted mass of his paw, Matt's cry muffled by the thick walls. 

Only God and Frank can hear him here, as he cries out, swamped, splintered. 

Matt's senses are narrowed down to this- the hot heaviness, the stretch, Frank's heartbeat inside of Matt in the most intimate way, the smell of his lover, gunpowder and sweat and musk, as he feeds in several inches of his forearm to Matt's guts, in and back out, twisting, angling the back of his corded forearm against the ring of muscle, breath slow, like he's about to take a shot, working Matt until he wants nothing more than the whiteout punch of an orgasm. Matt can smell Frank is hard as well, the way his cock is wet at the head with precum, the pulse of blood in the big vein whooshing in Matt's ears. 

"Frank!" He shrieks, rides the motion of Frank's sweet torture, hips pushing up against the waist restraint, but Frank just tisks. 

"Ah, ah. Not yet." Frank's other hand is wrapped hard around the base of Matt's cock, thumb teasing him with callous-edged strokes, and Matt wails. 

"Fuck you." He hisses, when he can breathe again. 

Frank works him for another twenty minutes, gentle, fast, hard, slow, deep and shallow, breaking down all his barriers until Matt can't focus on anything but what Frank wants of him. 

Finally, Frank bites him again, hard enough to indent, then slides his mouth down over the head of Matt's cock, the sharp scrape of his teeth perfect, the push of his fist setting off flares in Matt's head.

Even with Frank still pinching the vessel in his cock closed, Matt comes, screaming, fingers splaying wide, toes clenching, cock head jerking against Frank's palate. 

He's gasping as Frank sucks him clean, worrying his flesh with teeth and tongue and varying suction until he's sobbing, begging, thighs quivering, still stretched around Frank's one hand while the other strokes his cock with rough fingertips, massages his belly against the hill of the fist still inside him, then rubs over his balls with the back of his fingers, teasing him with the smooth gloss of his just-filed nails, rubbing one tip against where Matt is wet and so very taken, like he might decide to put the second hand in too. 

"Fuck please I can't, I can't-" Matt chokes out, wrung limp, hollowed.

Frank finally lets his soft cock fall from his mouth to slap against Matt's belly, and uncurls his hand, easing it out, other hand pressed against Matt's chest, over his heart, to keep him relaxed, calming his breathing from heaving bellows to something more meditative and relaxed by the time he's empty again.

Frank keeps a hand on him but the soft cloth against his hole has him gasping, calling out yellow. 

"Good boy." Frank cleans his hands and swishes mouthwash, spitting into the bucket at the side of the sling frame, then undoes Matt's restraints, always making sure to keep a hand or his flank pressed against Matt, to not leave him unmoored without touch. 

Frank helps him up and, when Matt's knees buckle, sweeps him into a bridal carry and lays him down on the silk sheets of the bed in the corner, feeds him ice chips and finger foods, kisses him, keeps praising his lover, keeping him in subspace, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck, rubbing over his nape, letting Matt curl into his chest and just breathe.


End file.
